I’ve lost my writing mojo again. A very “first-world” problem to have, I know.
BUT I am on vacation now, with every intention of writing.
We are at my parents’ house in the Portland, OR, area. It’s a true vacation – I don’t have to cook or clean or even get up in the morning. They are spoiling my daughter so she has no need for me. And yet all I’ve done for three days is sleep.
It’s been the best sleep I’ve had in months, maybe years. I’ve not had a true vacation in a long time.
Since 2010, I’ve been a freelancer, so if I didn’t work, I didn’t get paid. So when we’ve visited in the past, I still had to work at least 6 hours a day.
But now I am salaried again at my day job, so I don’t have to think about work. I don’t have to worry about cooking for my family. Time has expanded right now – waiting to be filled up by writing, and yet…
I keep taking naps.
Deep, dark, quiet, dead-to-the-world naps, with just a hint of guilt that I should be writing.
This trip was supposed to be a replacement for the writing road trip and also a reward/time away from the crazy schedule my job had demanded of me for the past four months.
So why am I writing a blog post about writing instead of actually writing? Part of it is my decades-old quandary between writing short stories or novels. I have both in progress and can’t decide which to work on with all this free time.
Rather than dive it, I lament how draining it is to go back and forth between the stories and novel and not be completely dedicated to one of them. Deep down I feel like a novelist because I love reading novels – the longer the better (I just finished Hilary Mantel’s “A Place of Greater Safety,” clocking in at 768 pages).
But I enjoy writing stories more. Go figure.
But I can’t give one of them up completely.
One approach I’ve decided on is to look at this next draft (fourth? fifth?) of the novel as a series of short stories rather than a novel.
Without AWP to look forward to, I need to dig deep to find my mojo again.
Tomorrow’s trip to Powell’s should help.